


The Music Played

by SigmaCreations



Category: Spooks | MI-5
Genre: Choices, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Requited Love, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 09:00:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1893129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SigmaCreations/pseuds/SigmaCreations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short, 5 chapter fic inspired by HR4's most recent fic "Three's a Crowd" and by the song "The music played" by Matt Morno that I heard again on the radio recently. Set after Ruth's return in S8, but George is not killed. All characters belong to Kudos and no copyright infringement is intended. Reviews are very much appreciated. Cheers, S.C.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Three's a Crowd](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/58965) by HR Always Live On. 



> I know I have other fics that I should be updating and I promise I'm working on them, but this fic wouldn't leave me alone until it was written (and yes it is complete, so thankfully it won't be joining my list of incomplete fics). Hope you enjoy and please review if you have a moment. Cheers, S.C.

You sigh, fighting to hold onto your temper because you know it's not his fault really, that he's in shock and overwhelmed by all that's happened and all that he's discovered in the last seventy-two hours, but you also know that you're near breaking point yourself; there's only so much of this anyone can stand. “Look, George,” you say, keeping your voice soft and understanding, “I couldn't tell you about my past. And not just you. I couldn't tell _anyone!_ And I understand how hurtful that must be for you, but you have to believe me when I say that I never meant to hurt you-”

“How can you say that,Ruth?!” he exclaims. “You knew what you were doing. It was a _lie!_ All of it.” You see the anguish in his face as he says it and the anger in his eyes when he demands suddenly, “Is that even your real name?”

“Yes, Ruth is my real name,” you reply patiently, even as you feel the frustration mount inside you, feeling like you're going round in circles.

“What's the rest of it?” he demands.

“You're missing the point, George,” you evade the question with practised ease, pushing aside the sudden stab of guilt you feel for not trusting him with that information, fearing that his wounded pride might make him do something to hurt you with the information that you've guarded so well until now. And just as you push away that thought, the face of another man flashes before your mind's eye, the only man you'd ever trust to never harm you, the only man who never would. But he's part of another life now, one you left behind and don't want to return to, no matter how wonderful it was to see him again and how much love and longing was in his gaze even after all this time. “I did what I had to do to protect myself, the people I worked with and my country,” you explain quickly, refocusing your mind on the present and the man before you, your partner, George. “This isn't some game I suddenly decided to play, George. I was a...” you cast around your mind for a word he can relate to, “soldier and I'm sworn to secrecy about certain things, but that doesn't mean that our whole life together was a lie. I'm with you for all the right reasons and my feelings for you and Nico are fiercely strong. I've been... myself with you in a way that I have never been with anyone else... Why isn't that enough? What difference can it possibly make to you if I went to Oxford or Aberdeen? If I worked as a clerk in a hospital in Liverpool or for MI-5 in London? It doesn't change who I am with you and Nico, or how much I care.”

You watch him as he paces across the room, his brow furrowed in thought though his gaze is still angry and hurt. At least he's thinking instead of just reacting, which is what he's been doing until now, you think with some relief, but when he turns to you and speaks, you know that he's not likely to let this go any time soon. “Your past has endangered us, Ruth,” he says more calmly. “And that's what bothers me. That Nico and I never had a choice. You lied to us.”

“I'm sorry, George,” you sigh, knowing that he's right and that, if things had turned out differently, if he or Nico had been hurt or killed, you would have been drowning in guilt yourself for that very reason. “I didn't mean for any of this to happen... But the chances of it happening were minuscule. I mean, what if an old boyfriend came after me and you and Nico got hurt in the process of him extracting his twisted idea of revenge? Do I need to tell you about all my old liaisons as well, about very person I've ever met who might hold a grudge?”

“It's not the same thing, Ruth,” he growls, “and you know it.”

“Maybe not, but it's not that different,” you insist. “I worked it out, you know. Before I started dating you. I didn't want to hide all this from you, but in the end, I realised that I had no choice. So to ease my mind, I worked out that the probability of someone finding and coming after me for something I did for Five was tiny.”

He watches you for a moment without saying anything, and you take courage from this and murmur, “Look, you remember Jo? She's really great with kids and she's offered to babysit Nico tonight so we can go out. There's a kind of function that she's got invitations for, but she doesn't want to go and she thought we might like to. Free wine bar and they'll be dancing. What do you think?”

You mentally cross your fingers as you watch him consider your proposal, knowing that this conversation between you isn't over, but hoping that he can take the step back you feel is necessary for you both to have some breathing space to think and work out how you can move past this together. And much to your relief, he nods in agreement.


	2. Chapter 2

How exactly are you supposed to deal with this situation, you wonder as you watch the scenery flit past the window. Ordinarily you'd be enjoying this opportunity to see London again, but now your mind is full of unanswered questions. How do you forgive and forget something as big as this? How do you teach your son that lying is wrong when one of his... parents has been doing it for years? “Never lie, George. It is a slight against your own soul and an insult to the other person _,”_ your father always said, and you've always tried to remember that. You haven't always succeeded, but you've certainly never done anything as... terrible as this. You feel betrayed and you wonder if you ever knew her at all.

You reach your destination and try to relax, forget it all for a bit as you and Ruth mingle. And for a little while you succeed as the elegance of your surroundings and the good quality wine claim your attention and distract you. Ruth seems to know a few people here and greets them warmly like long lost friends. You're introduced to them but doubt that you're given their real names; you're sure they all work for the Security Services. You recognise one of the men from the group of agents who stormed what you'd thought was a safe-house, but in the end, had turned out to be a prison for you and Nico. It's the sight of him that brings it all back and you're overwhelmed once more by the fear you'd felt for your son as they'd broken down the door and shots had rung out, your heart jumping into your mouth as you watched one of your captors grab Nico and use him as a human shield. You'd tried to run to him, calling his name but an MI-5 agent had tackled you to the floor. And you'd watched, as if in slow motion, as they'd taken the shot, the man holding Nico crumbling to the floor, pulling your son with him, and for one horrible moment, you'd thought the worst. You'd fought him then, the man holding you down, and had broken free, rushing to your son and pulling him into your arms, relieved beyond words to see that he was breathing and conscious as you'd asked him if he's hurt and ran your hands over him as he protested, “I'm fine, Dad, I'm fine.” The memories come flooding back and with them your anger at everyone, at the men who took you, at MI-5, and at Ruth.

“He was there,” you state as you watch him walk away, “when they stormed the house. He was there. It was...” You tail off shaking your head. “I thought Nico...” you try again, but can't finish the sentence.

“I know,” she murmurs softly, reaching for your arm and squeezing it gently as she looks at you with eyes full of compassion. “It always is. When we were in the warehouse and they threatened you and Nico...” She swallows and blinks rapidly, but instead of feeling the surge of love for her that you expect, you feel more anger bubble up inside you and you wonder if it's real or if it's all an act.

“How can I ever trust you again?” you ask in pain, voicing for the first time your deepest fear. “How can I ever know what is real and what's an act any more?” And as you watch her face, you know you've gone too far this time.

She pulls her hand from your arm and says in a cold voice, her eyes cool and distant, “I don't know, George. How _can_ you trust me? What do I have to do to regain your trust? Tell me... because from where I'm standing, it isn't so much that you can't, but that you won't.”

And you don't know what to say to that as she watches you for several moments, her eyes closed off from you, her face giving nothing away, just like it used to be when you'd first met. And you remember how she'd captured your attention and intrigued you, how you'd lain awake at night wondering what she was hiding, what had happened to make her so guarded, and how you'd wanted more than anything to just make her smile. And how, when you'd succeeded, you'd been stunned by the transformation in her face and couldn't wait to do it again until making Ruth smile had become your daily goal, and before you knew what was happening, you'd fallen in love with her.

You see all that now, and you suddenly feel ashamed that you're giving her such a hard time now that you finally know the truth, knowing that you've always wondered about her past, have always known there was a big secret in it, and that _that's_ what drew you to her in the first place – your desire to understand and help her. But you don't admit this out loud to her; you can't. Your pride won't let you. But as she turns and walks away, the only thing you can think of is your late wife's favourite song, “The music played,” and how she'd always told you, “You're too proud, George, and there's no room for pride in love,” and you wonder if you've just made the biggest mistake of your life.

 

_An angry silence lay where love had been_   
_And in your eyes a look I'd never seen_   
_If I had found the words, you might have stayed_   
_But as I turned to speak, the music played._

_As lovers danced their way around the floor,_   
_I sat and watched you walk towards the door_   
_I heard a friend of yours suggest you stayed_   
_And as you took his hand, the music played._


	3. Chapter 3

You watch her walk away from him and see the pain in her eyes, the pain she's hiding so well that most people would miss it. But you're not most people and you know her too well to be fooled, and so you go to her because that's what you do; you can't help yourself.

“Ruth,” you murmur softly as you reach for her arm, halting her progress towards the door.

“Harry?” she breathes and you can see her distress, that she's valiantly trying to hide, even more clearly now.

“Are you all right?” you ask softly in the voice you have reserved just for her, a voice you've only used once before in the last three years, only two days ago, in fact, when you'd seen her again after what had seemed like a life-time and you'd realised that you'd been a fool to think you'd moved on and that loving Ruth was in the past. For now you know that loving Ruth is as essential to you as breathing and that she will always be your past, your present and your future, even if you never see her again.

“Fine,” she nods, “I'm fine.” She stands before you looking breathtakingly beautiful as she squares her shoulders and lifts her head defiantly, reiterating, “I'm fine, Harry.”

And you can't help but admire her and love her and want her and need her all at once in that moment, but you do nothing, holding back with practised ease and murmuring instead, “Good.” She looks surprised that you're not arguing with her and it makes you smile slightly, knowing that there was a time when you would have done just that and finding it so very gratifying both that she's remembered and that you've surprised her, unintentional though it was. “Let me buy you a drink?” you ask then, pressing your advantage before she regains her equilibrium, hoping against hope that she'll consent to stay with you a little bit longer and give you the pleasure of her company and a change to comfort her, something you're sure she needs.

She hesitates for just a moment but then nods her head and it makes your heart soar.

You take a half-step back, turning towards the bar and lifting your left hand, offering it to her like the gentlemen you are, hoping to feel her skin against yours once more. She hesitates again, but then slips her cold fingers onto your warm palm, making you heart feel even lighter as you gently clasp them with your own and lead her to a table in the far corner of the room. “White wine?” you ask after you've helped her take a seat.

“Whisky,” she replies, taking you by surprise; she didn't used to like it as you recall.

You nod, wondering and hoping that _you're_ the reason she's acquired a taste for it during her exile. “Be right back,” you murmur with a smile. Then you walk to the bar and order your drinks, all the while keeping a surreptitious eye on Ruth who seems to be lost in deep thought as she gazes at the couples dancing on the dance floor. Not once does she look at you or at George, and you can't make up your mind if you're more hurt by the former or relieved by the latter until you give yourself a mental shake and an angry telling to. You're here as her friend tonight, not a jealous lover, you remind yourself. This isn't about you, but about her and what is best for her. And though it pains you more than you'll admit even to yourself, all you need to do is look at her to see that her life away from London, from Five, and from you has been good for her, that despite the ordeal she's been through over the last few days, she looks wonderful; she looks happy. So you carry the drinks back to her and set them on the table before taking a seat beside her, steeling yourself for what you have to do.

“Thank you,” she murmurs and takes a sip of her whisky.

“It's my pleasure, Ruth,” you reply, lifting your own glass to your lips and savouring the taste of the expensive malt, feeling grateful that they're serving the real stuff tonight and not some cheap imitation.

You're both silent for some moments before you nod towards her drink and say, “You never used to like it. The whisky, I mean.”

She smiles then as she turns to you, her eyes sparkling at you, and it's as if the sun's suddenly come out. God how you've missed her! “I didn't,” she agrees, “but while I was away, I found I missed home and...” you hold your breath as she hesitates for a moment, hoping against hope that she'll say it, screaming it inside your head, willing her to say _'you',_ one simple, little word that'll mean the world to you, but though her lips don't speak it, her eyes betray her as they melt into pools of the warmest blue you've ever seen before she completes her sentence, “so I came to love it.”

You smile, holding her gaze as you momentarily forget yourself and reach across the table to cover her hand with yours, but she pulls back at the contact as if recollecting herself and the moment is broken. You fight your disappointment, feeling your heart and throat constrict at the rejection before you quickly remind yourself that it's better this way. You look away and take another sip of your drink, pulling yourself together. Then you ask, “How's the boy?”

“Nico?” she smiles. “He's fine... Seems to be viewing the whole thing as one big adventure. Only thing that seems to be bothering him is that he can't swim and it's raining all the time.” She laughs softly and shakes her head. “Boys!” she says with exasperation and so much warmth in her voice that you can tell she loves him with all her heart.

You smile through the pain as the strength of her ties to her new life is highlighter for you, glad to see her relax a little again as you turn to watch her, enjoying the warmth of her smile, knowing that soon it will be gone from your life forever. “And George?” you ask after a few moments as the joy fades from her face to be replaced by a frown that creases her brow and brings back so many memories of late nights on the Grid.

She sighs, “Not so good. He's...” but she tails off and you see her glance in his direction, your heart plummeting even as you tell yourself to grit your teeth and bear it... for her sake.

You swallow, steeling yourself for what you have to do before saying, “It'll pass, Ruth. When the shock wears off, he'll understand... and forgive you.”

“I don't know, Harry,” she sighs.

“Trust me,” you murmur, knowing full well that what you say is true because you'd do it too, you'd forgive her in a heartbeat. “He'll forgive you, and in time, everything will be back to normal again. And in a few months, you'll be laughing about it together.”

She turns to look at you then and you can feel her studying your face intently, though you're unable to look at her right now. Your cheeks begin to burn under her scrutiny even as you tell yourself that you're too old to blush, and you're grateful for the dim lighting that hides it from her as, eventually, you turn to her, your gazes holding for a long time while she tries to read you, the small frown lodged between her eyebrows making you smile slightly. “Why are you doing this?” she whispers eventually.

“Doing what?” you ask innocently just for the pleasure of teasing her a little and getting a reaction out of her.

“You know what, Harry,” she frowns in irritation.

“And you know why,” you murmur with a soft smile.

“No, I don't,” she objects, “or I wouldn't have asked.”

“Because it's the right thing to do, Ruth,” you say softly. “And because... I want you to be happy. Everything else comes second to that.”

You watch tears gather in her eyes as you say it and feel her hand reach across the table and clasp yours. “Harry,” she murmurs in a shaky voice, “this is so unfair. I wish...” She tails off and lifts her other hand to wipe away the tear that rolls down her cheek.

“I know, Ruth,” you murmur, clasping her hand tightly as your other hand slips into your pocket to pull out your handkerchief and you offer it to her across the table. “I know,” you sigh. “But we both know that life is never fair. You have a beautiful, simple, elegant life to go back to with a family that loves you. I could never offer you that and I _won't_ stand in the way of it... I love you too much for that,” you add in a whisper that you're sure she won't hear.

“God damn you to hell, Harry Pearce,” she exclaims suddenly as she releases your hand, almost making you jump at the unexpectedness of it and causing a few people to turn and look at you both. She wipes her eyes with your handkerchief as you watch her, your mask of control slipping for a moment at her words. You lift your hand to cover your eyes and hide the pain that emerges in them for all to see while you struggle for control. “I'm already there, Ruth,” you think dismally as you fight the tears that threaten to spill from your eyes, swallowing convulsively in an effort to push your feelings back down, and it doesn't take you long before you're back in control of yourself, your thumb and finger wiping away any remaining traces of your moment of weakness. Then you turn to look at her again and find her watching you, a myriad of emotions shimmering in her eyes. She looks as tired as you feel, the emotional roller-coaster of your exchange on top of her argument with George draining her completely, so you quickly come to a decision.

“Would you like to dance?” you ask, rising from the table and standing before her, exhausted from your tête-à-tête and wanting something, a moment of warmth between you to create a good memory before you walk out of her life again, perhaps forever. Nothing that has been said tonight has changed your mind. She will forget you again and will be happy once more with George and most importantly the boy, Nico. You know she's a good mother, she's good at everything she does, and though you find yourself thinking from time to time that you could give her everything George has to offer and more, you know that you could never replace the boy and the idyllic life she has in Cyprus.

She hesitates for a moment, but then nods, wiping away the last of her tears before taking your hand. You slip the handkerchief she gives you back into your pocket as you lead her to the dance floor and pull her gently into your arms, holding her closer than you've ever dared before and enjoying every second of it, knowing it has to last you a life-time because it'll be the last. 


	4. Chapter 4

_Across the darkened room, the fatal signs I saw_   
_You'd been something more than friends before_   
_While I was hurting you by clinging to my pride,_   
_He had been waiting and I drove him to your side._

_I couldn't say the things I should have said_   
_Refused to let my heart control my head_   
_But I was made to see the price I paid_   
_And as he held you close, the music played._

  


You try to convince yourself that what you're seeing isn't happening, that she isn't falling for another man right before your very eyes, but deep down, you know you're fooling yourself. It seems to you like such an improbable pairing. What on earth does she see in him, you wonder. Balding, overweight, old, plain looking, you think unkindly, nothing out of the ordinary. They'd both been abducted for the same information though, you reason, so they must have worked very closely together in the past. She must know him quite well... as well as it's possible to know a spy at any rate, you think bitterly. And as you watch their quiet conversation that's infused with so much suppressed emotion from across the room, you realise that you've made a mistake. You _do_ know Ruth and you _do_ trust her. Perhaps not as much as you did just last week, but it's nothing that can't be repaired with time. And you find yourself fervently hoping that you haven't blown your chance with her because you still love her and you don't want to lose her.

You watch him get up and lead her to the dance floor, but the sight of him holding her in his arms makes your insides burn with jealousy and a fierce desire to stake your claim takes hold of you and galvanises you into action despite your shame over your own baser instincts. You've never objectified women and you're not about to start now, you tell yourself as you approach them on the dance floor, but you can't just stand back and watch him seduce her away from you without a fight; she means too much to you for that.

The man she's with sees you coming and holds your gaze as you approach and you can't help but notice how intense and keen his eyes are and how his arms tighten around Ruth. You're half way there when you see him whisper something in her ear and softly kiss her cheek and, to your very great surprise, pull back from her as you approach, clearly preparing to leave. You wonder at this briefly as he doesn't look the part; he's all alpha male, radiating power and authority, not the type of man to back down from what he wants without a fight, and you know he wants Ruth; it's written all over his face as he looks at her, his eyes gentle and warm, completely at odds with his body language of rigid self-control. You can't see Ruth's face, but you don't miss the way her hands cling to him and she lifts her eyes to look at him, murmuring, “Harry?”

“May I cut in?” you interrupt, not wanting to hear the rest of what she might say, the puzzled hurt in her voice wounding you more than you'd care to admit.

“Of course,” the man, Harry, replies, stepping away from Ruth as he brings the hand he's still holding to his lips. He presses a soft kiss against her knuckles and smiles at her, their gazes holding for a moment before he murmurs, “Goodbye, Ruth,” his tone of voice so warm and intimate that it makes you want to punch him, the violence of your impulse shocking you. Then he turns on his heel and walks away without looking back, and you find yourself watching his progress towards the exit for some moments before you realise what you're doing and mentally shake yourself as you turn to look at her.

“Ruth?” you say, pretending not to see the tears in her eyes as she stares after Harry or notice the pain searing your heart at the longing in her gaze.

She takes a deep breath and lifts her hand to brush away her tears before turning to face you. “Sorry,” she smiles apologetically. “He's an old friend and I don't expect I'll ever see him again.”

“I understand,” you murmur as you take her in your arms and begin to dance with her, but as you hold her close you know, you can feel it deep in your bones - you're too late, and now it's your turn to cling to her, savouring each moment, knowing it could be your last.

  


_And as I lost your love, the music played._


	5. Chapter 5

You take a deep, steadying breath before you ring the door bell, hoping he'll still be home this early on a Sunday morning. It's taken you a long time to get here - three months, in fact, since the last time you saw him - but you don't want to wait a moment longer before you lay eyes on his beloved face again. You step back and toy with your scarf as you glance up and down the street and then through the window of his front room several times, trying to discern any movement within through the sheer curtains that keep out prying eyes. “Come on,” you murmur softly, beginning to feel impatient and wondering if you've missed him as you feel sure that he won't be still in bed at this hour.

It probably takes less than a minute before you hear the bolts slide back and see the door begin to open, but you've already worked yourself up into a state of acute nervous excitement. He flings the door back on its hinges and you're sure he knows it's you or he wouldn't be so careless.

“Ruth,” he breathes as your gazes meet again after so long and you feel your insides heat up with a warmth only he can kindle inside you. Your eyes flick over him quickly and you see his do the same as if you're both trying to convince yourselves that the other is truly here. He's wearing a soft, blue, v-necked jumper over his dark blue shirt and dark grey trousers, and you can't help noticing that his feet are bare and his shirt's unbuttoned at the top, revealing the warm, soft skin of his neck, but before you can dwell on how good he looks and how sexy, he speaks. “What are you doing here?” he asks in wonder and you can't stop the smile from spreading across your face at the joy you see reflected in his eyes.

“Hello, Harry,” you murmur. “I was in the neighbourhood and thought I'd call on my cats... if that's all right with you,” you tease lightly, delighting in the smile your words provoke and the way his whole face lights up with it.

“Of course,” he nods, stepping aside to let you through his front door and closing it behind you. You look around in an attempt to settle your nerves as you wait for him to bolt the door and set the alarm, telling yourself that his pleasure in seeing you on his doorstep is a good sign and fervently hoping that he'll be open to what you've come to ask him. “May I take your coat?” you hear him ask, jolting you out of your thoughts.

“Thank you,” you nod, letting him pull it off your shoulders and hang it up before he turns to face you again. He seems smaller somehow, less intimidating than you remember and more approachable, and you realise that it must be his clothes, his lack of shoes and the fact that you're standing in his hall that are making all the difference, and it gives you the courage you need to move closer and lift your hands to cup and stroke his freshly shaved cheeks as you whisper his name. “I've missed you so much,” you murmur.

You lift your face towards his then and kiss him. It's a soft, gentle, and brief kiss, like the one you'd shared on the docks all those years ago, and like then, you can feel that he's holding back, and though you try not to let his reaction hurt you, reminding yourself that you haven't told him yet, that he doesn't know, you can't help the stab of pain that pierces your heart or the doubt that takes root in your mind.

He pulls back, taking your hands from his face as he takes a step back and looks away - in embarrassment? regret? - making you wonder if he's moved on. He's slipped past you now, murmuring something about making tea, but you're still lost in thought and it's only as he reaches the doorway to the kitchen that you recover enough to speak, halting his progress with one word.

“Wait,” you say, turning to face him. “I didn't come here for tea, Harry,” you add firmly, not wanting to waste any more time, needing to know the outcome of this meeting now. There will be time enough for tea later, or perhaps for one final farewell. Either way, you can't bear the suspense of not knowing any longer. You've planned and waited for this moment for too long to put it off any more.

He looks surprised at your words, no doubt expecting you to shy away from him as you used to, but he waits as you've asked, watching you. You can't read him any more; the joy that was in his eyes moments ago has gone to be replaced with his spook face, the one he wears at work that not even the best of the best can read. “I'm moving back to London,” you state calmly, still watching him for any reaction, hoping for a sign that he's pulled back because he believes you're going to leave him again and not because he's moved on, but it doesn't come.

Instead he murmurs softly, “Why?”

You hesitate, unsure of what to do before you realise that you have to see this through. _You_ are the one who left _him,_ so _you_ have to spell it out; _you_ have to risk your heart; _you_ have to be open and honest if you're to finally get what you've longed for, for years – a life with Harry. “You know why,” you say softly.

“No, I don't,” he shakes his head, but you can see his eyes light up as he adds, “or I wouldn't have asked.”

“Because it's the right thing to do,” you smile, his choice of words and the guarded hope you now see in his eyes dispelling all your doubts. “And because I want you to be happy... Everything else comes second to that, Harry.”

And now he's smiling too and striding towards you, pulling you into his arms and kissing you with a passion and intensity you have felt in him before but have never experienced like this. Everything around you has faded to black, and you're wondering why it's taken you so long to find each other, when he pulls back and says huskily, “I love you, Ruth Evershed... Welcome home.”

You grin at him, your heart overflowing with happiness, and you're so moved by it all that you find yourself unable to speak for some moments. “I love you too, Harry,” you say eventually as tears of happiness gather in your eyes. “I should never have left you.”

He shakes his head and tightens his arms around you, pulling your head against him so it rests snugly against his chest, nestled under his chin. “You had to, Ruth,” he murmurs huskily. “You had to find out which life you preferred, or you would never have been able to enjoy this one.”

“You knew I'd come back?” you ask in surprise as you pull back to look at him, realising that he's been more cunning than you ever suspected.

“No,” he replies, shaking his head and smiling softly down at you. “I hoped, but I couldn't be sure. I had to take the risk.” Then he reaches up to brush a strand of your hair behind your ear as he quotes, “If you love something, let it go; if it comes back to you, it's yours, but if it doesn't, it never was.”

You hold his gaze for long moments as you drink him in, noticing for the first time how many different colours are in his hazel eyes and how very beautiful they truly are, before he adds, “But I meant what I said - all I want is for you to be happy, Ruth. And if you had chosen to stay there, I would have been... content, knowing you were happy.”

You nod and lean forward again, resting your head against his chest and listening to the rapid beating of his heart for a little while as you marvel at how much he truly loves you. You don't deserve it, you know, but you promise yourself to cherish it and him for the rest of your days. “I tried,” you murmur, “but I couldn't be happy without you. It wasn't the same any more after everything that had happened and after seeing you again, being reminded of how _much_ I feel for you. I realised that I was trying to make it work because of Nico, not George. And then I realised that he's growing up and will soon leave home and then, what would I have? Living a half life in Cyprus wasn't fair on anyone, not me, not you, and not George or Nico.” You feel his arms tighten around you and his hand slide up your back and into your hair, cradling your head against him. “Then one day, while I was struggling with my decision, I received a visit from Noel Wellington, a man from the British Consulate, who handed me my new passport in my real name and told me that everything had been cleared up and I was now a free woman and, should I wish it, there was a job from me at GCHQ in Cyprus.” You pull back to look at him with a questioning look and find him smiling down at you.

“It's the least I could do after everything, Ruth,” he shrugs.

You lift an eyebrow at him, not buying it for a moment, suddenly seeing his entire game plan laid out before you and wondering how you missed it. “Is that all?” you ask, already knowing full well that it's only half the story.

You must be getting rusty, you think as you watch him, his innocent, “Should there be more?” not fooling you for a moment. You wonder if this had been his plan all along, or if it's something that occurred to him after you'd left England again with George, perhaps after he'd cleared your name and realised it presented the perfect opportunity to contact you, one that, for all his desire that you be happy, he couldn't resist using because he missed you so much.

“Not necessarily,” you smile as you realise that it doesn't matter when he'd formed his plan because you love him for all his qualities, good or bad, and that you would have returned to him anyway... always. “But I know that there is. I know you, Harry Pearce, and you don't give up without a fight. I think you wanted to remind me of what I'd left behind, so you sent someone to offer me a job as a means to that end. You wanted me to change my mind and come back to my old life.”

“Not your old life, Ruth,” he murmurs softly, leaning in to kiss you, “your new life... here... with me.”


End file.
